Chapter 8
Hermione POV
For the three months they'd been married, Hermione noticed an odd pattern. Lord Voldemort only stayed with her for the waning phase of the moon. Whatever assignments he went on, must all have fallen on the waxing part of the moon—but this pattern was really odd.
By a tacit agreement, they had started their physical intimacy from the past three fortnights that he'd been with her. He had been patient with her. Her memory of the pain during the first time had not helped, and she used to stiffen any time he approached the apex of her thighs. But he'd never been unkind to her. At one point she had given up hope that she would stop her stiffening under him, but some magic had happened, because their last two times together had been pleasurable to both of them. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that she had started feeling pleasure with him only after she had felt her emotions thaw towards him. And she knew when her emotions had thawed.
On his prompting, they had gone to meet her parents in Sarragar. He had glamoured both of them even before they stepped foot into the city. They had stayed with her parents for a week. Lord Voldemort was a tall imposing figure in front of the small build of her parents. For the initial days, things had been formal, but slowly the formality had slipped away, and she couldn't believe it when one day she found him helping her mother in the kitchen, kneading the dough for her. That was not the only thing. When she had gone to her father's office to call him for their dinner, he had been sharing wine with Lord Voldemort. She never usually eavesdropped, but the slightly ajar door had been a good opportunity to just lean against the wall and listen in.
Her father had been saying, "... Hermione's our gem, our only child. You can't begin to understand a father's concern for his daughter." It was clear that her father was tipsy, otherwise a statement like that which semi-accused, and semi-tried to guilt-trip a dangerous personality like her husband, would not have been uttered by her father.
Hermione's breath had lodged in her throat, waiting for Lord Voldemort's reply.
"It is true that I wouldn't be able to understand a father's concern, for I am not a father, yet. But I am a husband, and I am as much concerned about Hermione as you are. My marital vow to ensure her health and happiness were not empty words. Rest assured, Hermione's wellbeing is my first priority."
Her husband was not one to romance her to her face—but he showed his care through his actions. The books on magic that she wanted would be quickly arranged for her, the rare ingredient for a personal potion that she wanted would be arranged for her. But most importantly, he patiently gave his time, taking her through her practice of wand-magic, and was even more patient after and during their intercourse, her demand of being cuddled afterwards always being met by him.
Gradually she had relaxed, and when he touched her thighs she no longer stiffened but melted into his touch, eagerly pressed herself to meet him. His way of love-making had not changed, but the moment her emotions for him had changed, their love-making had dramatically improved, becoming pleasurable for them both. As she lay contentedly within his arms, his seed dripping from her vagina, she knew the routine by now.
Tomorrow the moon would start waxing, and he would leave on another of his assignments. Three months ago, she would not have felt the pangs she felt now, she would not have felt the anxiety she felt now. But now, she knew she would be waiting for him to come back to her—her taciturn husband who had no flowery words, but who showed that he cared through all his actions. A tear slipped out of her eye as she realized, she was going to miss him.